


it's in my bloodstream

by Hermia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermia/pseuds/Hermia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ A three parter. ] Derek's been injected with yet another altered strain of wolfsbane, and Deaton delivers a bit of "bad" news. He's the only person who can save Derek's life. And even then, the method is very specific. Neither of them are ready for that step, but necessity drives them to do the deed, if only to keep Derek alive for long enough to actually be together. Afterwards there's nothing to make up for in the aftermath, but he's convinced he ought to do something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You've got to be kidding me.”

There was a solemnity to the vet's expression that told Stiles _no, I'm not kidding._

He was shaking his head even before he was speaking, and continued even after the words came. “Come on, this is something out of a comic. There's no way that kind of stuff works in real life.”

“Stiles,” Scott muttered at his left. “He's a werewolf.”

Deaton nodded vaguely in Scott's direction. “Some measure of suspension of disbelief is necessary.”

“So... what? Am I supposed to suck the wolfsbane out of him? Because the last time I had that stuff in my system, it wasn't exactly a good time.”

Stiles heard a groan from beside him, and Deaton pursed his lips to suppress a smile. The situation was too serious – too dire – to let a laugh slip. “No, Stiles. This isn't about the act itself. It's about the will to live and about having a reason to pull through.” He watched the boy's face for his reaction, but gleaned very little from the twitch of his muscles. “You'd be giving him a... boost, so to speak. Like a shot of adrenaline.”

“I still don't get it.”

“There's nothing to _get_ , I'm afraid,” Deaton explained, pushing himself away from the empty examination table to walk around towards Stiles. He set his hands on the boy's shoulders before guiding him around towards the door. “I've seen it work. Not personally and not in this precise manner, but I've seen them pull out of sickness that would kill anyone else with the help of their mates.” Stiles twisted his head to look at him; Deaton managed a small, encouraging smile. “They're incredibly willful creatures, but sometimes they do need that little push.”

_Unbelievable_ was a good word to describe Stiles' current situation. All he could remember leading up to this point was Scott calling him panicked, half-begging him to get to the clinic because Deaton had to talk to him. Then there was Derek, a rushed explanation of what happened (an altered strain of wolfsbane, an injection instead of a bullet or a powder or anything else), and then suddenly he's Derek's mate.

And he has to have sex with him if Derek's going to survive.

Deaton guided him out of the room without trouble, handing him a small tube of lubricant as he did . He had an issue picking up his feet, but the floor was smooth enough to not make that a problem. His heart was hammering in his chest a mile a minute and his palms were sweaty and he felt like he was going to pass out. But this was a non-issue. It was a non-issue from the second Deaton told him it meant life or death for Derek.

Stiles wasn't in love with him. Stiles hadn't formed the connection the vet told him about, not that he was aware of. But he knew he couldn't lose Derek. He couldn't. So he calmed himself, tried to breathe (eventually succeeding, long before he opened the door to the room Derek was set up in), and stepped inside.

The examination table had what looked like a blanket thrown over it, the thick, quilted one Deaton kept in his trunk in case he came by any animals on the road. On top of which was a very sick-looking werewolf.

“So I'm guessing you picked all that up,” Stiles said even before his legs were able to take him to stand beside the table. His mouth was always faster than his feet. “Your superhuman hearing still works with the wolfsbane in your system, right? Or do I have to tell you why I'm here? Because I'd really rather not try to explain all of that.”

“I heard,” Derek rasped, sweat clinging to pale skin. “Get out.”

Stiles' head jerked up at that. His brown eyes were wide. “Wait, what? Just like that?”

“Your legs work better than mine do right now.” The werewolf took in a sharp breath through his nose, shifting on the examination table out of discomfort. “Otherwise we wouldn't be talking about this at all.”

“... Wow, okay.” Instead of heading for the door, Stiles took a step forward. He could _see_ Derek's muscles tense. “Have sex with me or die. Dying's the _obvious_ choice here.”

“I'm _**not**_ \--” Derek let out a growl that shook the various bottles in the room, tears sliding from the sides of his eyes. Claws that never came out unless necessary were suddenly digging into the blanket beneath him.  


“Not. Forcing this,” he continued through gritted teeth, glowing red eyes finding Stiles' face with some effort. “ _Not like this_. Not with you – being guilted into it.”

Stiles stared at him. Unmoving, unblinking – he stared at him. In the few months he'd known Derek, he'd never seen him this bad off. Even with a monkshood-laced bullet in his forearm, he'd had it in him to threaten him a few times, the force of will to order Stiles to cut off his arm. 

“Right,” he said on the heels of a frustrated sigh. “Because that's what this is. This isn't me trying to _help you_. This is Deaton pimping me out so you can get better.”

He was quiet for a moment, whether because he was thinking or because the pain was too much for him, it was hard to say, but when he did speak again, his voice was much quieter.  


“There are limits,” Derek said, eyes shifted back to their normal green. “Maybe you want to help me, but you don't want this. I won't do this to my _mate_.”

The feeling was different, hearing Derek say it.

With Deaton, mate sounded so clinical. Maybe it was because he was a vet. Maybe it was because he was still in shock from all that was going on. But when Derek said it, staring up from the examination table and looking almost sad due to the turn of events, it felt... solid. Real. A word cemented in truth, not just some abstract idea he couldn't wrap his head around.

“Yeah, you're right. I'm not ready to do this,” Stiles murmured. His fingers curled and flexed and tightened deep in the pockets of his jeans, one of them around the tube of lube he'd shoved inside only moments before. “But there's no way I'm letting you die, alright? Not if this is what's gonna help you pull through.”

Derek was silent again, though he didn't remove his gaze from Stiles. His mate. Perhaps the revelation should have been surprising to him, but, then perhaps not. Maybe the total lack of shock on his end just proved how true the statement was. They certainly didn't get along all the time, and there was no doubt this was being pushed on  _both_ of them before they wanted it.  


The timing didn't feel right. But the idea did.  


The werewolf struggled to sit up, eventually settling with propping himself up on his elbow. With his free hand, Derek reached out to Stiles, trying not to let on that every muscle in his body was aching and trembling. “I'm not ready, either,” he admitted, looking five years younger but sounding twenty years older. “I'm sorry there's no other option.”

Stiles dragged his palm over the rough fabric of his jeans in a vain attempt to wipe it dry, but curled his fingers around Derek's regardless how clammy his hands felt. When he realized the hand he grasped felt the same, he took a step forward. 

“Look, don't apologize. This'll be a lot easier if you can at least pretend you're into it.” When Stiles' eyes met Derek's, he barely pulled off a weak, lopsided smile. “Maybe it'll rub off on me.”

Derek squeezed his hand almost too tightly, letting out a rough chuckle under his breath. “I'd be more into it if every part of my body didn't feel like it was burning in acid.”  


His eyes slammed shut as he attempted to shift so he was sitting on the edge of the table. Before he could humiliate himself by falling backwards, though, there was a pair of hands on his shoulders, helping him sit up.  


“Thank you,” the older of the two murmured, moving a hand forward until it was resting on his waist. It was more than just helping him sit up. It was a thank you for saving his life, for his loyalty to his friends and family, for his bravery. A thank you for not running away when the word _mate_ was thrown out. A thank you for everything.

It was a thank you Stiles punctuated with a kiss.

He hadn't expected upon hearing Deaton explain what would need to happen that he would want this. The physical intimacy still terrified him. The idea of actually having sex with Derek freaked him out. But a kiss wasn't so hard.

In fact, kissing Derek was a lot simpler than he ever thought it would be.

Stiles' lips parted slightly as they met Derek's mouth, and his hands smoothed over his shoulders, fingers snagging clumsily over the folds in the fabric but never quite letting go.

One of Derek's hands slid upward to cup the nape of Stiles' neck, pushing him closer there and also by the waist until he was standing between the werewolf's split legs.  


The kiss was tentative, awkward in the way only a first kiss can be, unsure of how the other's mouth fit or how far they needed to turn their head to avoid bumping noses. Even so, it took Derek's breath away, left his lips trembling, fingers twitching to touch more skin.  


“Hurts a little less” he said, breaking the kiss but moving not even an inch away from Stiles' face. When their eyes met, the hand he kept on the teenager's waist tightened. “Maybe... maybe you don't _have_ to--”  


His grip tightened once more, this time with claws scraping against skin. Derek let go of him immediately, eyes wide with panic, forcing his hands to clasp onto the edge of the table instead. A strangled noise of pain forced its way out of his throat, forehead falling forward until it met Stiles' shoulder, unable to hide the sob that followed.

“Yeah, I think we have to,” Stiles told him, a hand that'd been resting on Derek's shoulder sliding around to rub the back of his neck. His thumb brushed skin and through black hair, and he sighed. Not a frustrated sigh, but a soft thing that was more of a hitched breath than anything. When he spoke again, there was a measure of forced levity in his voice. “It's alright. I mean, the mate thing's for life, right? You'll have time to make up for it.”

Derek hiccuped, wrapping an arm around Stiles' slender waist. He pulled him closer, almost possessively, but as his nose found the curve of his neck, the movement revealed itself to be more needy than anything else. He needed Stiles closer.  


Anger may have been his anchor, but his mate and the light scent of vanilla that he carried along with him reminded him of the one thing he could never hurt. The one thing he  _would_ never hurt.  


“It's more complicated than that. But I can't--” Derek hissed, clenching his molars as he forced his body back to normal, breathing in deep through his nose. “Stiles. It's getting worse.” His voice was cracking now, weak and broken, just like the man himself. “I ne-- _help_. Ju-just make it-it _stop_.”

That's when another wave of panic set in.

Stiles' heartbeat fluctuated, gone from nervous to steady to a mile a minute, and the air suddenly felt two times thinner than it should. His inhalations became more like short, quiet gasps with every second. “I've never – Derek, I've never actually  _done_ this before. I don't –“ 

He pressed his lips together and guided himself away, just enough to look at him. Every single feature reflected the panic spreading from nerve to nerve. “What if I can't get it up?”

That was when it hit him. Derek's life depended on him getting and maintaining an erection.

“Stiles.” Derek was steadier now. It was like the teen's panic _forced_ the pain back, demanded that he become the alpha again, not the scared, useless shell of a man he was acting like. “Save the panic attack for the afterglow. You've probably been training for this since you got your own computer.”  


His flippancy was forced, but necessary. The more pressure he put on Stiles, the worse he'd become, and then they  _really_ would be in trouble. His mate handled stress via sarcasm, so he encouraged it. Maybe he'd get another chance to say certain things, touch him how he wanted to, to take his time. But right now, he couldn't have that luxury.  


“I'll make sure you get hard, and _stay_ hard. All you have to do is move your hips.” Derek curled his fingers beneath the waist of Stiles' jeans. “You can handle that.”

The breath Stiles let out made him shudder. “Yeah, I can handle that.”

Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, Stiles took the first, necessary step. His hands went to the hem of Derek's shirt and he pulled it upwards. Carefully, though not slowly, guiding the bunched fabric over his head and letting it fall to the floor. His skin was paler than usual, and he was sweating. Still, he somehow managed to look... incredible.

His fingers twitched when they found Derek's waist again, and Stiles' teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

They dipped lower, trembling slightly as he worked open his belt, as he removed it, as he loosed the button of his jeans. “I have no idea what I'm doing,” Stiles confessed. That much was obvious in the way he swayed slightly on his feet. “I just...  _really_ wish I knew what I was doing.” At this point, he wasn't even talking to Derek. He wasn't talking to anyone but himself, a low-pitched mumble that broke when it got too quiet. “But I want you to be okay. I can't lose you, too. Not yet. Well, not ever, but especially not yet. Not before... stuff happens. Dates and stuff.”

Derek didn't hesitate to cup his mate's face, rough hands that had too much blood on them suddenly tender and gentle, but  _solid_ . They touched with purpose, with slow, sweeping strokes of his thumbs under baggy eyes and fingertips sliding along the beginnings of sideburns, forcing Stiles to look up at him.  


“I'm right here,” he declared, swallowing hard once the words squeezed out from his tight throat. “I need you. Not just to save my life.” Derek leaned in until their foreheads touched, his wet eyes falling shut as he released a shuddering breath. “We'll talk. I _promise you_ , we'll talk. But I can't-- I don't want to die. I don't want to lose you, either. Or this feeling. Just focus on the feeling, Stiles – I know you know what I'm talking about. It'll get-- get us through this. I think that's what he meant. Our bond is... it's strong.”

Stiles was quickly making a habit of leaving off with words and just kissing Derek instead. Sarcastic comments were left by the wayside when all he could think about was kissing him, about getting closer.

This time, however, Stiles knew he had to take yet another step forward. It was easy to ignore the way his hands were shaking when his tongue slid out of his mouth just far enough to pass over Derek's bottom lip. The kiss was the most important part of the equation. The sound of a zipper being unzipped was white noise compared to the warmth that spread through Stiles' body when he felt Derek open his mouth.

He made a quiet noise at the back of his throat as his hands slid around the now loosened waist of Derek's jeans, eager fingers dipping beneath the elastic waistband of his underwear only to brush against the first few inches of warm, damp skin.

Drawing out of the kiss, Stiles rested his forehead against Derek's. He licked his lips.

“How much time do you think we have? Even I know this isn't really something we can just jump into.”

Derek caught on to his mate's habit, sealing his lips over Stiles' instead of answering him. It distracted him from the pain, and more importantly, every second they spent pulling on each other's lips was another slice of tension that seemed to melt out of them both.  


Still, the question was an important one. Derek had been captured for too long without Scott's help; he knew he didn't have much time. “Probably an hour... less at the rate my heart's going. We can't waste time on a lot of foreplay, especially directed on me.” Dipping down, he began to kiss over the skin beneath Stiles' ear, hands slipping between them to undo his pants. The sound of them falling around his ankles seemed to echo in the small room. Only when he started to regulate his breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth (lips still lingering by his ear), did he slide his hand into the teen's boxers and curl his fingers around his soft length, massaging it between his fingers.  


“The faster my heart goes, the faster the wolfsbane works through my body.” Derek gripped a little tighter, folding the elastic down with his wrist as he shifted his hand's position to roll his thumb over the tip of the head. “I'll get you hard, you'll get on top of me, I'll heal, and we'll figure this out. I'm more worried about getting to a _second_ time right now than about either of us being any good.”

“I – nnh, I don't think you have to worry about that.” Stiles' throat bobbed with some difficulty as his fingertips dug into Derek's lower back. “There's definitely gonna be a second time. If this works. Oh god, I hope this works.”

Stiles tilted his head against Derek's for all of a moment before he was speaking again, this time with a quiet sort of assertiveness that the older of the two hadn't witnessed from him before. “Lay back.” His hands smoothed up over his back and around to his waist, tongue rolling over his bottom lip. 

Stepping out of his jeans, he bent down to remove the small bottle of lube from his pocket. He couldn't focus on how awkward he felt, standing there in the vet clinic without any pants, about to have sex with Derek in order to save his life. It was a heroic gesture, but he was still standing there in the cold room with a mostly-hard-on in a t-shirt.

Letting out a slow breath through pursed lips, Stiles set about helping Derek take off his pants. His underwear went right along with them, and he couldn't help but lick his lips for the hundredth time that night. 

“So... I just... I've got to –“ Palming the lube from one hand to the other once Derek's jeans were cast aside, he looked him in the eye, his brows pinched upwards. But then the expression on Derek's face registered. He was able to see past a haze of anxiety to see desperation and an evident pain that hurt the both of them. “Alright. I've got this. Still a little nervous about this whole magical dick thing, but... I trust you. And you seem to believe it. So. Right.”

“I'll explain it later,” Derek murmured, brows furrowed with concentration. Sweat was dripping down his neck, clinging to his chest and thighs and arms as his muscles tensed and relaxed every few seconds. “It's not about the sex. It's the connection. It's--”  


The werewolf was cut off by another growl, but this one broke off half way, silenced until it was nothing more than a whimper caught in his throat. “It's  _you_ . Please. If you take anything away fr--” Derek's eyes slammed shut once more, back arching off the exam table, stiff with pain. Had it not been punctuated with a wail of pain, it might've been an enjoyable sight.  


“Oh, God, can I do som--”  


“ _No,”_ he said through a clenched jaw, obviously not speaking to Stiles. A few more repetitions of the word and he flopped back onto the blanket-covered surface, panting, green eyes dilated and wild, but there was no hint of the alpha there. Just a frightened man who was just as unsure about this as a teenager six years his junior.  


“Take off your shirt,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder. “I need to feel your skin.” Derek reached out his hand, slipping under the fabric and scraping his nails against Stiles' abdomen. “It's _important_. It-- It'll--” He was quickly losing the fight with consciousness. It wasn't just the pain anymore. This particular blend of wolfsbane was finally starting to take its mental toll. “Less pain. Feeling you.”

If Stiles pulled off his shirt any faster, he might've ended up with a hell of a case of whiplash.

Throwing it onto the floor, he pulled himself up onto the examination table and above Derek, his hands immediately seeking out his stomach. They smoothed along the skin as he watched his face, watching as his expression softened. With each inch he touched, another pocket of pain seemed to melt away, and that was the moment he decided he believed Deaton. He believed he could do this, that he could save Derek's life.

Stiles continued regulating his breathing as he popped open the bottle and let a few droplets of the silky liquid drip down onto his fingertips. Once he felt it was enough, he set the bottle down on the quilt and rubbed the pads of his fingers together.

His chest rose and fell with every breath. Every huff of air that left him was followed by another, forcibly measured, as he guided Derek's thighs apart as best he could.

Licking over his bottom lip, Stiles trained his eyes on what he was doing, no matter how much he wanted to look up to Derek's face. He wanted to see if what he was doing was right. He wanted to make sense of it, and maybe Derek could give him some peace of mind. But he couldn't; he had to pay attention.

So he stared down at his slick index finger as it pressed against his asshole, and he sucked in a breath when it became obvious just how tight Derek was.

The werewolf was in too much pain everywhere else to be bothered by the stretching, or even to derive any pleasure from it as Stiles increased his pace. He was too far away, not touching him enough to give him the relief he so desperately craved.  


Derek knew it was necessary, if not for himself, most definitely for Stiles. They both needed to be relaxed for this, and any time the teenager was spending not thinking about the pressure on him was time well spent.  


Keeping his breathing as steady as he could, Derek began to roll his hips in time with Stiles' fingers, unable to keep a moan slipping from swollen lips when he felt his finger brush the bundle of nerves inside of him. “Another finger,” he rasped, and his mate obliged once it was slicked with more lube.  


It went on for some time, until Derek felt loose and wet and Stiles moved to hover over him, one hand planted right by his ear, fingers brushing his thick, black hair. The older of the two turned his head to kissed the younger's wrist. “Almost there,” he murmured. “You're almost there, Stiles.”   


Whether that was enough encouragement, or he simply decided now was the time, Derek wasn't sure, but within a few seconds he felt something warm and far stiffer than fingers enter him, meeting very little resistance; he put all of his concentration in ignoring the pain of the wolfsbane coursing through him to avoid clenching up around him. He wanted to stay relaxed.  


To that end, he curled his arm around the back of Stiles' neck and pulled him down, hips rolling up to meet his mate's first awkward thrust, already muttering an apology under his breath.  


“I want this,” Derek replied weakly. “It's alright. It's what I need. Stay close.” His other arm wrapped around Stiles' thin waist, pressing their bodies together until only the thinnest sliver of light could pass between their bodies. “Don't pull away from me.”

“I won't.”

Stiles could barely get that much out before his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, his limbs already trembling with exertion as he held himself up. Pressing his upturned nose against the curve of Derek's cheek, he let go of the focus he'd had only a little while before. He let his mind wander, though it never went very far away from the man beneath him. He just couldn't concentrate on what he was doing, on the incredible sensation radiating up from his cock and deep into his core.

Curling his arms up around Derek's head, he held himself close. He didn't have any other option. And if there had been one available, he wouldn't have taken it. He would've stayed right there with his lips against the corner of Derek's mouth, his shoulders caved in and his narrow hips rocking upwards with every stroke.

_This isn't about the act itself. It's about the will to live and about having a reason to pull through._   


The words echoed in Derek's mind as he felt his lupine side take over, though it wasn't in a way he was used to. There was no violent twitching, no crack of bones shifting, no claws seeking soft flesh to tear into. There was only Stiles. Stiles and the feeling that  _no_ , he won't pull away. Not now, and not ever.   


As if he could read his mind, the teenager pressed an open-mouthed peck to the skin beside his nose.   


_They're incredibly willful creatures, but sometimes they do need that little push._   


What Deaton called a push, Derek called a punch in the gut. He felt as if he was always chasing his own breath, never quite catching up to it and his mate continued to drive into him at an off-beat pace, stopping to shift his position every few strokes. But the man under him wasn't feeling it, even as he clenched around him when his blood seemingly began to burn.   


While he always ran hot, Derek was now blisteringly so, causing Stiles to begin to sweat as well just from being so close to him, despite the coolness of the room. It was working, he knew it was, but he couldn't form the correct words. His mate's name was the only thing on his lips and keeping him close was the only thing he cared about.   


Nails dug into scalp and back alike as Stiles started moving with more purpose, enough to draw a moan that had nothing to do with the pain coursing through him from deep within his chest. Derek's legs spread of their own volition, but a moment later he was pushing them out to the very edge of the table just to give Stiles a chance to get even close, even  _deeper_ .

And deeper Stiles somehow managed to get.

His breathing was ragged by then, and he was barely holding onto the last scrap of control he had. The pleasure was too intense. It was too much, too soon, but he was too afraid of not holding out long enough. The idea of losing  _this_ because his body refused to hold on was what kept him going.

In turn, his fear and concern and the outpouring of affection was what Deaton meant when he said a push. The connection was the important aspect, the string connecting the both of them together. A transfer of positive energy, a kiss and a touch and a reminder that there was someone still out there waiting for Derek.  _It's about the will to live._

_About having a reason to pull through._

He was Derek's reason. And in that moment, he was Derek's will.

So Stiles kept going.

He kept going until Derek seized. Not like he did before, all arched back and screaming at the top of his lungs. No, this time he _did_ shift. His mouth fell open in a silent 'o,' fangs grazing against tender neck, but he didn't bite. Claws scraped against Stiles back and neck, but he didn't break skin.  


The entirety of his body curled up as tight as it could with Stiles between his legs. Everything was white, blurred at the edged with floating, colored dots flying before his eyes, and even when they were clenched shut. The wolfsbane was making a final push. This was where he could die. This was where he could lose it all.  


_Again._ _  
_

Derek heard his name, but it was distant, like it was at the very edges of a dream. He knew the voice, but he struggled to understand why it was important with the wolfsbane clouding his mind. It was easier to just stop fighting, wasn't it? He could see his family again. Maybe-- _  
_

“ _Derek, you told me it would work!”_ _  
_

_Stiles. Your mate._ He focused on his name, on his warm skin and bony body on top of him. The feeling of his upturned nose and soft lips buried in his neck the moment his head fell back and clunked against the exam table. _He doesn't want to lose you, Derek._ _ **Fight.**_ _Don't you_ _ **dare**_ _leave him alone!_  


The noise he made was truly inhuman. It was barely even a howl. It was a strangled roar of defiance, one last _fuck you_ to anyone who would listen. He knew Stiles had stopped moving now, he could smell the concern mixed with the sweet scent of fear. But it wasn't fear of _him_.  


It was the fear of loss.  


Derek went slack a moment later, head lolling off the the side, but before Stiles could frantically start screaming, green eyes fluttered open, fangs and claws nowhere in sight.  


He was drenched in sweat, barely able to breath or move. But he was alive.

Alive and... wet.

Or, at least, his cheek was, damp from the tear that'd fallen off of Stiles' clumped lashes, flung free after a rapid blink of his eyes. They were as dark as ever and wide, glinting with the reflection of the bright lights scattered around the room. And as soon as Stiles realized what was happening, he lifted a hand to rub at them.

Once they were mostly dried, he let himself lean back down, this time flush against Derek's body, the tip of his nose pressing in just beneath his cheekbone.

Stiles' arms curled even tighter around him, his forearms lifting Derek's head up from the examination table, all but cradling him closer. “Oh my god,” he said before letting out a heavy breath. “For a second there, I didn't think – it worked, right? You're okay?”

Derek nodded, lifting heavy hands to only just reach Stiles' waist. “It worked.” To say his voice was trembling would have been an understatement. He shifted his head until their noses met side-to-side, nuzzling as best he could with his strength so sapped. “I'm okay, Stiles. It's all okay.” 

“Good,” Stiles murmured against the corner of Derek's mouth. “You freaked me out near the end there.”

He paused, the fingers of one hand sliding deep into his thick hair.

“Freaked out _might_ be an understatement.”

Derek's eyes shut, abundant lashes fluttering as he leaned heavily into the teen's hand. “What about you?” It was clear he was running on fumes, but it was just as transparent that he didn't want Stiles to go anywhere yet. “Are you... did you...” Huffing, he furrowed his brow without bothering to open his eyes. “Can't figure out what to say.” 

“I can guess,” Stiles said, an actual laugh weaving its way into his words. “And, yeah, I did. Just a little while before you started freaking out. I'm... good. I think? Yeah.” He shook his head a little. “You need some... sleep or something. Maybe Deaton'll let you stay here. Or you can see if Scott's mom'll let you crash at their house?” Stiles leaned away from Derek's face, his hands still cradling the back of his head. “Or you can come with me. I can explain it to my dad later.”

“I'm going to be healing for the next few hours,” Derek said. “Which means a lot of vomiting up black goo.” A hesitant hand found its way to Stiles' face, moving in to touch him, then moving back, only to close the gap completely a second later. “I think he's mostly over the time I punched him and tied him up in the back of my car. I should be alright here for a night.” 

Stiles nodded, and the corner of his mouth hitched up in a small smile. “I'll come by tomorrow before school.” Leaning down, he planted a quick kiss just above Derek's collarbone. “If you're feeling up to it... maybe you can drop by my house after I get home? To... talk and stuff.”

Again, Derek nodded, rubbing his hand over his mate's shoulder. “I'll be there. There's a lot to discuss.” He paused only briefly before continuing. “Thank you.” While his voice before was weak, those two words were spoken softly, rather than breaking on his tongue. The words were rare for him. Gratitude, trust, love – these were all things that had been warped for him. But with those big, brown eyes staring at him, with the sacrifice Stiles just made, the discomfort he was just forced to go through, there was nothing else for Derek to feel. He'd been dying it for too long because of a woman who was put to ground months ago.  


“It's not enough,” Derek went on, “but hopefully I can give you more.” 

“Look, I'm not exactly a martyr for the cause or something, Derek. It would've been nice if you took me out on a date first, but we were pressed for time.” Stiles shrugged. “I already wanted you. I just thought we'd end up dating for a few weeks before that happened. But... you're welcome.”

The corners of his mouth turned down. “I still don't like it.” Derek shook his head, sighing deeply. “I didn't mean that. I just don't like you being put in these situations. I wanted this, too... but like I told you, I wasn't ready, either.” Thick brows twitched inward and wrinkled his forehead. “Or maybe it needed to happen like that. I was pretty comfortable with my denial.” 

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Stiles licked his lips, pulling up onto his elbows. “Are you alright, though? Do you need anything? Like... your clothes. You need your clothes. Some water? Do you need water?”

“Yeah, both.” Derek passed his tongue over his lips as well, tilting his head as his eyes flicked over Stiles' face. Then he guided him back down for a kiss, soft and slow, focused on his upper lip. “Needed that, too,” he deadpanned, face serious as if what he had just done was, indeed, vital to his existence. 

The bridge of Stiles' nose wrinkled in a smile as he moved away from Derek, his hand skimming over his chest and stomach as if he wasn't entirely ready to let go yet, and he bent down to grab for Derek's jeans and shirt. He set them down next to him with a smaller smile. Then he let himself drop down the short distance from the examination table.

Finding his clothes proved a bit more difficult, considering he'd forgotten the location of his shirt. After he'd zipped up his jeans, he spent twice as long figuring out where the article had gone, eventually finding it near the door instead of around the table. He pulled it back on and turned towards Derek.

“I'll go get you some water, then.” Moving back over to his side, Stiles leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek and smiled through it. “So yeah. That was... interesting. I hope the black goo doesn't suck as much as it did last time.”

“Going to suck more this time around, I think.” Derek ran his hand over Stiles' back, pressing his cheek back up against his lips with a smile instead of moving his head. “Don't worry, I'll wait for you to go home before letting my healing kick in. There's some things you just shouldn't see right after having sex.”

Stiles snorted. “Honestly? I thought my first time would go worse than that. Which probably says a few things about my imagination.”

Derek chuckled, though it ended in a groan. He let himself fall back from his slightly elevated position. “Somehow, I'm not surprised.” Shutting his eyes, then cracking one open, he pawed at the air with one hand until he was able to curl his fingers around Stiles' own. “Second time will make up for it. And any time after that.” 

“It better.” Stiles gave Derek's hand a squeeze before leaning down to give him another, quick kiss. “I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Just... be careful tonight. Text me.” He pressed his lips together and nodded. “I'll be up anyway, so don't worry about waking me up.”

Stiles left when he nodded, though they held on to each other as long as they could.  


When he returned with a paper cup of water, though, Derek was asleep.  


He didn't stay long, but he made sure Derek was covered (albeit with the werewolf's own shirt. Hopefully Deaton had another blanket around or something) and gave him another kiss on the cheek before leaving the clinic.  


At 3:47 he received a text.  


_I'll be over at 4 tomorrow._  


While Stiles was replying, he got another, one that made him smile to himself, as simple as the text was.  


_Have a good day._


	2. Chapter 2

“So Stiles is your mate?”

Derek gritted his teeth for for felt like the hundredth time since Scott had picked him up from the clinic in his mom's car.

“Isn't that sort of weird? I mean, you can't have babies.” The beta drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Or does that not matter?”

“What matters is the feeling.” Derek kept his eyes ahead, more intent on looking for Stiles' street than turning his attention to his packmate. “Not every pack has a bloodline, not every alpha cares about having children.”

There was a beat of silence before Scott switched gears. “Do you think Allison is my mate?”

“Judging by the way you can't shut up about her, yes.”

“Huh.”

“What?” This time, Derek glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You know something.”

Scott's shoulders bounced in a small shrug. “If that wasn't just you being sarcastic and constantly bringing up someone in conversation is a _sign_...” The teen shot him a broad smile with an annoyingly smug undertone. “I'm just saying, both if you talk about the other all the time. And lately it hasn't even been about killing each other!”

Derek huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and acting more the moody teen than the boy next to him.

“Seriously, though, don't you guys hate each other?” Scott turned off the main road and into Stiles' neighborhood. “I feel like I'm missing something.”

“Shouldn't you be used to that feeling by now?”

“Oh, sure, verbally abuse the dude who saved your butt again,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “He doesn't have any feelings. You're willing to thank _Stiles_ for his magic boner but not me for being the one to drag you out of that mess.”

“Look, I--” Derek cut himself off, jaw falling open as he tripped over his words. “I – you – you _were listening?!_ ”

“Deaton _asked_ me to. I didn't willingly scar myself for life.” He made a show of shuddering as he pulled up against the curb outside of Stiles' house. “He didn't want to walk in on you two 'solidifying the bond' or whatever.”

Derek groaned.

“Whatever, deal with your ego later, okay? Before you go up, I need to know how you feel about him. You didn't _choose_ this, right?” Scott set the car in park and turned off the ignition. “Stiles is basically my brother. You don't get to do this if this is just you having some sort of wolfy obligation.”

Passing his tongue over his lips, the alpha shifted until most of his body was facing his packmate without drawing his legs up onto the seat. “The feelings are out of my control. Not the relationship. If I didn't want him as my mate, I wouldn't be here.”

“But you'd still have the feelings. Wouldn't that bother you?”

“We did fine these past months,” Derek answered, lips pursing in thought. “The feelings are only part of the equation. There's a lot involved. It's like any relationship. Sometimes it's easier, like with you and Allison.” A tiny smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Hales have almost always gone the more difficult route.”

“Do you love him?”

The alpha's brows furrowed. “No,” he admitted, but after a few seconds, he added a quiet, “Not yet.”

“But he's your mate.”

“And I'd protect him with everything I have,” Derek said. “Love is a completely different emotion. It doesn't happen easily for all of us.” The elder werewolf's shoulders slumped forward, along with his head. “I have my reasons.”

Scott knew Derek well enough to know when something was off-limits, so he nodded and pressed on. “... Just tell me you care about him, okay?” The teen dipped down to catch his gaze, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “When he cares about somebody, it's  _really_ intense. He'll... put all his feelings into it and he doesn't care if he gets hurt or if they don't feel something back. Promise me he's what you want. That you're not just gonna leave him hanging.”

Derek was silent for a moment. The connection Stiles and Scott had always amazed him. They were protective of each other to a fault.

“He's what I want,” he murmured. Derek's voice was rough, but unwavering. “I care about him. I promise.”

Scott smiled wide, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Then get up there, man. Before he ends up wearing a hole in the floor or something.”

Derek bobbed his head in agreement and opened the car door, sliding out and stretching his legs. As he turned around to shut the door, though, he paused. Bending over enough to see Scott, he looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting a moment before he spoke. “Thanks,” he said, the word causing his cheek to twitch. “You're a good brother.”

“Yeah?” Scott laughed. “To you or to Stiles?”

The alpha's face straightened, but kept the soft edges that his recent smile left behind. “Both of us.”

The teen's smile waned, face going slack with surprise. “I – it's no problem, Derek. Seriously. We're a pack, right?”

With a nod, Derek shut the door and moved his way across the Stilinski's front lawn, lifting his nose in the air and finding a familiar scent immediately, wafting out an open window on the second story.

He was still recovering from the wolfsbane. Muscles ached and protested loudly when he walked, but he could handle climbing up a few feet, he was sure. Derek began his ascent and immediately realized it was not one of his better decisions.

Still, he managed to make it up to the bit of roof awning that jutted out from the house just under Stiles' window, lying face down in the wooden panels.

When he heard footsteps close-in, he let out a petulant noise.

Stiles' head jerked into view through the window. He could've sworn he heard something above the shuffle of his shoes on the floor and whatever was going on inside his own head. A whine? Definitely a whine. He took a few quick steps in the direction of the window, figuring maybe he could see what was going on through it, but he stopped in his tracks when he realized it was Derek.

Pursing his lips, they twitched to the side slightly, and he rocked up onto the balls of his feet to get a better look at him, legs stretching him almost half a foot taller than he usually was.

“Does Derek want to come inside?” he called out, nearly stumbling forward when he pulled out of the stretch. Striding for the window, the smirk was replaced with a smile. And when he spoke up again, the high-pitched voice was gone. “Dude, you could've used the front door. My dad isn't even _here_.”

“Hnn,” was all the werewolf could manage before he pressed his palms into the roof and managed to get himself up onto his knees. “I... didn't think about that. I caught your scent and wanted to come up.” 

Stiles hurried over to the window sill, reaching through and grabbing onto Derek's arms. “God, you are so weird.” He couldn't help but keep smiling, despite the pure oddity of the whole scent thing. It was cute; Derek was willing to scale the side of a house to get to him. Mildly disconcerting, but cute. “Come on. Before the whole neighborhood realizes the Stilinski kid is playing Rapunzel to Derek Hale.”

Derek allowed himself to be tugged on, guided through the window with relative ease. There was even a smile on his face until he was drawn closer to Stiles' body.  


There was a different scent on him. It wasn't Scott – Derek could have handled that – it was another werewolf. Not one of his. He leaned in, pressing their bodies together, nose brushing against the side of his neck. The werewolf wrapped his arms around his mate and began rubbing his stubbled cheek against the soft skin of Stiles' throat. 

“Whoaaa.” Stiles' hands nudged at Derek's biceps, though he didn't push him away with any urgency. Instead, he did the leaning away, a wide, open-mouthed smile on his face. “Not even a 'hey'? Or a 'hi, Stiles, good to see you, maybe we should discuss what's going between us before round two'?”

Derek blinked rapidly, shaking his head free of the haze that had overcome him. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn't seem embarrassed, just a little confused. “You smell like...” He sniffed. “Jackson. He's not in the pack. It's... something to add to the list of things I need to explain.” An apologetic smile appeared on his lips, slanted and bashful as he allowed a couple inches to separate the two of them. “Hey.” 

Stile laughed under his breath, his hands rubbing up and down Derek's arms. “I bumped into him in the hallway. But... if doing that gets that kind of greeting, I might start rubbing shoulders with him more often.” He paused, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip before looking back over into Derek's eyes. “What's that about, though? The smelling thing. I figure it has something to do with me being your mate, but it'd make more sense coming from you.”

“I wouldn't like it if any of my pack smelled like an outside werewolf,” he explained, lacing his fingers at the small of Stiles' back. “But it's different with a mate. Your scent calms me down, I guess. Comforts me. Smelling someone else on you warps that – it's a doubled-edged sword.” One of his shoulders hitched in a shrug. “You could chalk it up to marking my territory.” 

“Your territory. Riiight. About that.” Stiles cocked his head to the side. “That's... this is still _happening_ , right? Last night was real and not some crazy insomnia-fueled hallucination?”

Derek nodded, releasing him from his arms as he did so, giving him more space, though certainly not moving too far. “Last night happened. _This--_ ” He made a gesture indicating the two of them. “This is still up in the air. And entirely up to how you feel once you get the information you want.” 

“It's not like I'm gonna sit you down for a game of 20 questions. I just... want to know what it means.” Stiles' fingers curled around Derek's wrist after only the briefest moments of hesitation, and he guided him in the direction of the foot of his bed. “I wanna know what happens now. I know Scott and Allison just date and it's fine now that they're back together, but... you're the alpha. And I'm – well, I'm something.”

“I don't know everything,” Derek admitted as he sat on Stiles' bed. When he realized they were sitting a few inches apart, he moved closer. “Werewolves start seeking a mate when they're sixteen. I only had a very introductory talk about it with my parents. But I know an alpha's mate is in the most danger. Especially if they aren't a werewolf.”  


“My pack is small enough that I don't think it warrants any sort of merit, but if we were larger, rivals might try to kill you to weaken me. It depends on the alpha, whether or not they adhere to older traditions or embrace a more modern way of life.” Derek sighed heavily, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands limp between his legs. “I can go on if that hasn't scared you off.” 

Stiles stared at a spot on the floor until Derek stopped talking. He recognized hesitance in his voice, like he wasn't completely convinced they were a sure thing. 

“I've almost gotten killed who knows how many times. I've seen you puke up gross Grade-A horror movie stuff. We've been paralyzed together as a bonding experience. I'm pretty sure anyone with their head on straight would've been scared off already.”

He nudged Derek with a bent elbow before scooting even closer, a hand resting on the mattress just behind him, body turned closer to his. “I'm not going anywhere. Keep talking.”

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, Derek turned to face him as well, staring into his large, brown eyes without hesitation. “So... what you mean to me, then.” Sitting up, he moved the hand closest to Stiles onto his thigh, nearer to his knee, rubbing over the denim. “The easiest way to explain it is an invisible string. When I'm not close by, I feel a tug. Everything's a little more difficult because of it. If I'm near you, I'll want to touch you. I'll want you to be drenched in my scent. I'll be possessive and jealous at times, especially on full moons.” He let out a huff of a laugh through his nose. “It'll probably take me awhile to be able to be around you on those days now.” 

“Because it was so easy for you to be around me at _all_ before now,” Stiles murmured with a chuckle, his head drifting in until his forehead bumped against Derek's. He didn't mind the proximity; he liked it. He didn't mind what Derek was setting out in front of him – the jealousy, the possessiveness, the obvious rough patches around the full moon. “But... yeah, I can deal with all of this. Totally worth it.”

“And I want you to know that I'm here for me,” Derek said, his conversation with Scott still echoing in his head. “I'm here because I do trust you. And I do care about you. Not because my instincts are telling me you're mine and no one else should have you.”  


He leaned in, sealing his lips over Stiles' firmly, hand lifting from his thigh to his cheek. Derek was pulling away a few moments later, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. “I'm not in love with you,” he said, voice grating on his throat. The irritation must've caused his eyes to water. That had to be it. “But I want to be.” 

Stiles nodded. He didn't say anything because he didn't want to make an idiot out of himself. He didn't want to look like a stupid teenager who just tripped and fell head over heels for somebody, even if such a comparison would've been apt. 

He knew himself well enough to know none of what happened between them would have happened if he wasn't already in love with Derek.

“Yeah, well... let me know when you do so I can scratch it off my bucket list, alright?”

Derek brushed a hand over the fuzz of his hair, nuzzling the upturned tip of his mate's nose with the side of his. “I will. It'll just... take some time. Still have some wounds that need healing.” 

Stiles smiled – a tiny thing at the corner of his mouth – and pressed a hand into the middle of Derek's chest. He applied just enough pressure to guide him away, just enough, and kept going until he was laying on his back with his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. He curled an arm around his waist and rested his chin on his chest. “Gotcha.” His thumb rubbed a semicircle against the fabric of his shirt. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“Besides the fact I could get used to this...?” Derek made a thoughtful noise, staring up at the ceiling, then back into Stiles' eyes. “I don't think so. But there's gaps in my education, like I said.” His hand slid along the teenager's back, down, down, down until he could slip his fingertips up the hem of his shirt, _mm_ ing low in his throat when he felt skin. “Deaton probably knows more than I do.” 

“Eh, we'll figure it out,” Stiles said before resting his cheek on Derek's chest instead of his chin, his fingers curling in the folds of his shirt. “So... right, uh. Does this mean we're dating? That's what this means, right? Or is this a test run? Or are we just really good friends who occasionally save each others lives, sometimes through totally NC-17 means?”

“I don't feel a need to test this.” He shifted closer until one of his feet slid between Stiles' ankles over the edge of the bed. “Doubt we'd get along worse than we did the first couple weeks of knowing each other.” Drumming his fingers on his chest, Derek paused in thought, eyes narrowing up at the ceiling. “Dating's a little more complicated. I mean, call me your boyfriend, sure, I just feel like we're going to have to go out of town if I ever want to take you out to dinner.” 

Stiles concentrated on Derek's face for a long while before pulling himself up onto his elbows. “My dad, right? The whole _yes, sheriff, I am dating your incredibly mature, at least decently attractive seventeen year old_ thing?”

“Dating your somewhat mature, _incredibly_ attractive seventeen year old thing,” Derek corrected. “Yeah. Minor issue. No pun intended.” 

“Incredibly attractive, huh? Here I was trying to pretend I was modest.”

Derek chuckled. “Save it for the people you haven't had sex with.” 

“Ooh, good one.” Stiles grinned wide enough to press his cheeks up into his eyes. The hand still on his waist slipped downward, fingers toying at the hem of his shirt. “You know, now that that's all settled, you could go back to that scent thing you were doing. It was pretty hot.”

Shifting to get a look a Stiles' face, Derek propped himself up on an elbow, tilting his head. “I'd like to,” he murmured, slipping his own hand up his mates shirt and feeling over his soft stomach. “It'll work better with our shirts off.” 

Stiles let out a single breath of _oh_. 

Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, he sat up in order to pull his t-shirt over his head. It felt different now. The urgency was gone and Derek wasn't dying and they were... boyfriends (?) now. He didn't tear the article off and throw it across the room. He shrugged out of it and let it fall at the foot of the bed and laid back, hands resting on his stomach, fingertips already tapping against it.

Derek's tongue swiped across his lips, green eyes flicking over slender waist. He peeled his shirt off, too, letting it drop over Stiles' on the floor, toeing his boots off at the same time. Crawling onto the bed, the werewolf kept moving up and up until he was standing on his knees, straddling his mates chest. He could hear his pounding heart, see the panic in his wide eyes, but Derek simply hooked his hands under Stiles' arms and tugged him up with one firm motion, until his head was over the pillows.  


Dropping him with a _fhump,_ Derek planted his hands on either side of Stiles' shoulders, working his knees back until he could fit one leg between the his, the other on the outside. He kept their chests together as best he could, but didn't try to lay on him fully  


Leaning in, the older of the two brushed his lips against the younger's jaw, not even kissing before he was burying his face into the crook of his neck. He breathed out a soft moan against pale skin as he began to rub, scratching flesh with rough, two-day-old stubble, soothing the irritation with warm, wet lips. 

Stiles' fingers splayed at his sides before drawing back into fists, the heel of his tennis shoes digging into the mattress as his hips shifted upwards, a purely physical reaction to the sound that filled his ears. All he could decipher from his own body was that he wanted more of it. He wanted Derek closer, and he actually wanted him doing this more than anything else.

Tilting his chin up, he dug the crown of his head into his pillows, arching his neck to give Derek more room, his tongue darting out from between his lips and running over them.

Derek dragged his tongue over the column of his throat in gratitude.  


Digging his knees into the bed, he shifted over until they were parallel, using legs and arms to keep his full weight off the skinny, anxiety prone teen beneath him. It helped him get enough space between his crotch and Stiles' thigh to allow him the opportunity to start to rock back and forth on knees and elbows, arching his back slightly so that their chests rubbed together, but neither of their legs were causing too much friction.  


Even still, there was enough, the occasional bump or slide against denim. It was enough to draw a moan of his mate's name out of Derek's mouth before he silenced it by sealing his lips over Stiles' Adam's apple, sucking on the flesh. 

“Hnn, _Derek_.” Stiles' hands went to Derek's shoulders, pawing at the width of them before holding on. “Remember when I said – nnh, when I said my dad wasn't here? I didn't say anything about when he's getting home. Probably in half an hour? So that –“ He gestured vaguely at Derek's body, though he meant his hips. “That's... no-ot a good idea. Not right now. Just. Oh god, later? Please say later. Tonight?”

“You're moved first,” Derek pointed out, gliding his cheek against the other side of his neck before changing position, hovering over Stiles while on his hands and knees. He leaned down, shoulders first, bumping the tips of their noses together while keeping his lower half far above the teen's body. A small, sly smile parted his lips. “If you really want me to come by again tonight, I might be able to work something out.” 

Stiles sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. Once he goes to sleep. I'll text you.” When he let go of his lip, he let go of a heavy breath, his eyes bright and his cheeks mottled and pink. “He sleeps like a rock, so... we won't have to worry about. Well.”

“Would it bother you if I told you I want to wait?” Derek backpedaled the moment he saw Stiles' confused face, brows furrowed and head cocked. “Not _take vows of chastity_ , I just don't want to jump right into having sex. I'm not...” He let out a sigh, moving off his mate's body to sit next to him, back pressed up to the pillows. The side of his head rested on the headboard as he looked down at him. “Not sure I'm totally comfortable with the idea yet. My damage, nothing you did.” 

“That's... probably a good idea,” Stiles admitted with some obvious trouble. His mouth and his head were the contenders in a struggle like this, not his body. The former had more experience under their figurative belts by a long shot. “I didn't mean to rush anything? I just... well, you're really hot and this is the first time I've ever really been with anyone, so all I have is pop culture and my vast imagination to go off of.” 

Leaning closer to Derek, Stiles bumped his forehead against his chest. “I get it, yeah. We can wait on it.”

Wrapping his arm around the teen's shoulders and pressed his nose to the top of his head. “I had a... bad experience,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I'm working on not letting it control my life. Spending time with you will help. And I promise not to leave you with a case of blueballs; I definitely want to get you off. Like I said, I'm the issue here. Not you.” His other hand began running over Stiles' stomach. “At all.” 

Stiles let out another, softer huff of a breath, and tilted his chin upwards, the smile at the corner of his mouth tugging even farther upwards. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I get it. I just – when you're ready? I'm gonna rock your world. Just fyi.”

Derek's face stilled save for the slightest inward twitch of his brows. “As much as you can on your hands and knees, I guess.” 

“That... okay, that shit isn't fair.” Stiles lifted up a hand to scrub over his face. “You can't say that kind of thing right after you tell me we're waiting. I'm lucky I can sort of control my magical healing dick, to be honest.”

The werewolf grinned, flashing a strip of white teeth. “I was _kidding_. You're welcome to rock my world again.” Derek leaned down, moving Stiles' head farther along his torso until he could comfortably find his ear to give it a gentle nibble, running his hand over his stomach once more. “Waiting on sex doesn't mean waiting on every _kind_ of sex. Your magical healing dick is going to be just fine.” 

Chuckling, Stiles leaned his head closer to Derek's mouth. “That's good to hear.” He licked at his lips and shut his eyes, body curling up closer to Derek and his hand sliding around to rest on the small of his back. “Can you come tonight anyway? Or is that too soon? That's clingy isn't it.”

“Maybe,” Derek murmured as he kissed along his neck. They were quick, gentle pecks, especially compared to the earlier scentmarking he had been doing. “But it feels right to be with you like this. I need to spend more time with you. I want to.” Hand moving from Stiles' stomach to his chin, he twisted his head enough to manage a slightly awkward kiss to half of his mouth. “I'll be here once you text me.” 

Stiles' acknowledgment came in the shape of a smile, similar to the last, though this one formed right against Derek's lips. So close the shift nearly moved them both. Wrapping his arm tighter around him, he gave him a squeeze. “I'll text you in a few hours. When everything's settled here.” 

He squirmed on the bed and only managed to get closer.

“If I ever let you get out of here, I mean.”


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks may've dragged on for what seemed like years for the teenagers Derek was surrounded by, but for him, it went by quickly. Something he wasn't particularly grateful for considering his new relationship.

He and Stiles had no set routine, no date night, no preferred activity. Both of them were inexperienced in this regard, in a real relationship. More than that, neither of them were social butterflies. They were both blunt, sarcastic, and sometimes very cruel in the things they had to say. It lead to a few unpleasant moments.

Arguments were common, brief and not very heated, but there had been only one fight. A fight that stretched out for three days because of how stubborn they both were, how much pride they had. But Derek's ego had been broken before, and perhaps because of that, he was able to bend more easily, to come to Stiles' window one night and apologize through the pane of glass, only to be brought inside and apologized to a moment later.

The good far outweighed the bad, though. There was the occasional dinner date where they both cleaned up far better than the other had anticipated. Pleasant surprise for both of them, that ended up in the two of them fogging up the windows of Derek's Camaro, leaving marks on each other's bodies.

If Stiles' father noticed the abundance of hickeys on his son's neck, he didn't let on.

More often than not, though, they stayed at Stiles' house whenever his father was gone. They could both cook (Stiles was far better at it than Derek was) and often just made due with whatever the Stilinskis had in the fridge. Sometimes the teenager would bring take out by the subway tunnel Derek had been forced to call his home while the Argents watched his estate, enough for any of the betas that might be over, too.

In truth, though, they spent most of their time in Stiles' bedroom, exploring each other in ways that had been taken from them when they were forced into something neither of them were prepared for. It took less time than Derek expected for him to melt, to accept physical advances and not immediately think of Kate. They progressed from heavy petting to blowjobs over the course of the first week and a half, and it only continued to move forward until it became very obvious that the next step was sex.

Derek had been perfectly content to leave it at that... until he wasn't. Things were confusing for him to say the least. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over Kate, not entirely, but that didn't mean he couldn't move on. He'd told himself time and time again that he wouldn't let a dead woman control his life, but that's all he'd known the past seven years. She controlled him when she convinced him she was interested in a sixteen-year-old, when she got him into bed, when she told him she loved him and Derek heard no lie in her heart.

It left him understandably questioning of love, of its legitimacy, of its worth. Derek was well aware his feelings for Stiles were deep-seated and unwavering, but the teen was his mate. That sort of relationship felt purer to the werewolf. He never called Kate his mate despite suspecting that's exactly who she was. Love was suspect. Having a mate wasn't.

It took having a long discussion with Erica to figure out how stupid he was being.

The blonde reminded him so much of his sister at times, it was unsurprising that he began to consider her as such. She was more reckless, but just as fierce and just as willing to tell him he was being an idiot. Erica had been understanding, though. She explained it was difficult for her and Isaac to get over their own misgivings about the emotion, having been left raw from family deserting them or abusing them. But she had told him one thing that resonated in his mind even two days later as he stared up at his boyfriend's open window.

“ _He can't fix you. Stiles has all the stuff with him; y'know, the glue and the clamps and the lamp to make it set faster. But he'll get it all wrong if you can't show him what's broken. It's a team effort, and it won't work if you feel like you can't tell him the truth, 'cause you **do** love him. You're just scared.”_

Derek _was_ scared. Scared of putting his heart on the line again, scared for his pack, scared what would become of him should Stiles decide that this wasn't what he wanted in the end.

But he'd been vulnerable in front of Stiles before, he remembered. Time and Time again, physically and emotionally, and the teenager never did more than have a sarcastic comment at the ready.

It was that, coupled with the echo of Erica's words that pushed his feet forward until he reached the front door of Stiles' home, sniffing once to ensure his father's scent was only lingering due to living there, not because of his presence. When he was satisfied, he fished the key his mate had given him out of his wallet.

Derek had started to see the Stilinski residence as his home despite still hiding from Stiles' father. He knew it well, almost as well as his boyfriend. Which floorboards creaked, the way one of the cabinets stuck because Stiles had super glued the hinges when he was a kid and they never quite recovered. There were notches in the kitchen door frame with years and height and Stiles' name written in an elegant hand to a certain point, until the handwriting changed entirely – Derek recognized it as a more childish form of Stiles' own hand.

That was how they knew each other. Through feelings and looks and quiet moments when Derek would fall asleep with his face against Stiles' stomach so the light of his laptop wouldn't bother his sensitive eyes, or when his mate would wrap his arms around him at night, squeezing tighter the closer to came to the time when Derek had to leave. Words weren't scarce, but they were rarely deep and never of the past. Perhaps it was best to leave it that way.

But there were some things that needed to be said, especially on Derek's side of things. Stiles didn't have the luxury of superhuman senses. He couldn't hear the way his heart beat faster around him, he couldn't smell the lust, and he couldn't see the imperceptible smile the werewolf had developed over the years, the tiniest quirk of the corner of his mouth that he often kept for when his mate was busy with homework. Derek needed to tell him.

Sighing, he made his way up the stairs, not bothering to skip the fourth and seventh steps to avoid the creak. Stiles expected him and was attempting to “train” him to use the front door “unless he was coming over for a late night booty call.”

It took nine steps to get him to his mate's door from the top of the stairs. Nine steps, twelve shallow breaths and a heart rate that was pushing 70 beats per minute from his normal 55 resting.

Wiping his sweaty palms onto his jeans, Derek took another deep breath before twisting the handle, shutting his eyes and letting the scent wash over him before entering, closing the door behind him and walking toward Stiles with a small smile on his lips.

Stiles' smile was three times as big where he sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop half-closed and forgotten and leaning backwards on the mattress. “You took your sweet ass time,” he said as he eased his legs off of the side of his bed and stood up. Fresh out of the shower, he was still damp in places (namely his slightly-longer-than-usual hair) and in his normal boxer and t-shirt bedtime ensemble, smelling every inch like soap and the cheap vanilla shampoo his dad always bought.

“I was starting to think you flaked out on me.” He was teasing; that much was obvious due to his immovable grin. Padding over to Derek, he wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his face into his shoulder. “Good thing you didn't. The anticipation _might've_ killed.”

Derek's smile widened as he pressed his lips to his hair, not bothered in the slightest by the water that was left on his skin as he pulled away. “You get half your nourishment from stress and anxiety,” he muttered, teasing just the same. “I'm sure you would have been fine.” 

“Yeah, right.” Stiles took a step back towards his bed, his grin melting into a simple smile. “Like I would've recovered from you skipping out on couple time. We're still in a very important developmental phase in our relationship.”

Before he could make it to his bed, Derek grabbed him around the waist with one arm, lifting him up with only a quiet grunt, flopping him onto the mattress face first and crawling on top of him in the span of seconds, narrowly avoiding sending his laptop tumbling to the ground.  


Derek ran his hands over Stiles' arms until he found slender fingers, lacing his thicker ones between them and kissing at the back of his ear. “Yes we _are._ ” The werewolf nuzzled the skin he had just brushed with his lips, still smiling. “Have you been reading relationship advice on the Internet again, or do you think making everything sound clinical is a turn on?” 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you how many women magazines I've read in the past couple of years,” Stiles muttered into the mattress before leaning his head back against Derek's lips. “And I'm pretty sure you manhandling me like that is either a warning sign of having the wrong guy or one of forty ways to spice up your sex life.”

“Hmm.” Derek pressed his lips along the back of his mate's neck, sucking gently at the base while he pretended to chew on the information given him. “Either way, I have outstanding proof that you enjoy it. So do your neighbors.” 

Stiles laughed, leaning forward to press his face into his comforter. Which somehow still managed to smell like Derek; had he really been visiting that often? “Great. Rub that in a little more, it's alright. Not like I have to actually talk to them when I get the mail.” He huffed, lifted Derek up a little in the process. “They give me these _looks_. Creepy proud ones, like they're glad I've got a guy climbing in the window to give me a blowjob or something.”

Chuckling, Derek moved off of him, picking up his laptop and placing it on the nightstand, pushing back the lamp there so it was secure. “You hold your own pretty well,” he said as he laid down on the bed again, this time at Stiles' side rather than on top of him, smirking. “When I'm not trying too hard, anyway.” 

“You mean 'when I actually let you do anything instead of just pinning you down,' right? Because, yeah, you bet I hold my own.” Stiles leaned in just far enough to rub the end of his upturned nose against the bridge of Derek's. “So what's on our schedule for tonight? Movie? I downloaded a few. There's leftover Chinese in the fridge. Oooor we could just stay right here. Your choice.”

Derek turned onto his side, resting his hand on Stiles' back, index finger twitching. “Here for right now.” Moving in closer, he laid his head down close enough for the tips of their noses to brush against each other. “We need to talk. I do, I mean.” 

“Which means we.” Stiles pursed his lips just enough to brush them against Derek's. “Because I don't do the shutting up and listening thing well.”

There was a dozen things Derek could have said then. He could have teased, he could have dug a speech out from the very depths of his heart. He could go into detail about Kate, about his fears, or about how Stiles had forced his way into his life and made it a thousand times brighter.  


But words weren't his strong suit, and the longer he thought about what to do or say, the more likely he was to not say anything at all. So instead of drawing it out, he looked into Stiles' eyes, brown and wide with flecks of gold playing in their depths. His hand slid up the length of his back until his fingers were resting on the side of his neck, between the bed and his skin, thumb brushing along the nape.  


“I love you,” he said, his soft voice thick with emotion. Derek could feel his heart hammering against his chest, so loud he couldn't even hear his mate's over the rush of blood in his ears. 

Stiles blinked. Not once or twice, but three times before his brows knitted inward slightly. He wet his lips. He shifted closer. In the time it took for him to say so much as a word, he could have returned the sentiment a dozen times. But he needed to be sure. He needed to convince himself Derek had said what he thought he heard. He needed to make sure the words formed right on his tongue; tripping over them wouldn't win him any awards. And when he had them, he was so close to Derek, there wasn't room to move anymore.

Pressing his nose against the apple of Derek's cheek, Stiles shut his eyes and took a short breath. “I love you, too.” 

He'd said it a hundred times in his head without his heartbeat racing, but now he couldn't slow it down.

“I love you and I'm _ready._ ” This time, Derek spoke with more conviction, embolden by a sentiment returned, by the pulse that was racing just as quickly as his own. “I trust you. With more than just my life... that was the easy part.” He slipped his fingers under the collar of Stiles' shirt, rubbing the skin between his shoulder blades. “The hard part was accepting that I feel safe with you.” 

Stiles squirmed around until he rested on his back, body still pressed right up against Derek's. “I'm kinda glad we waited, you know? I mean, I know we didn't. Technically. But... it feels like we did the right thing? Like we weren't supposed to jump right into it.” The bridge of his nose wrinkled in thought, though it relaxed just after. “I'm probably not making any sense, but I'm glad you're ready? I've been ready pretty much since you touched me after the whole wolfsbane incident. I didn't wanna say anything because I had a feeling you weren't.”

Derek lifted his mate's arm, dipping his head under it until he cheek was resting against his chest. “I wasn't,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against thin cotton. “But this... _us_ , we're different. I can't keep letting the past get in the way of that.”  


Twisting in Stiles' arms, Derek moved until he was propped up on his elbows, hands sliding up under the nearby pillows, face hovering above the teen under him. “Plus, you said something about 'rocking my world..?' There's only so long I can pretend I'm not thinking about it daily.” 

“Daily, huh?”

Smug was the single most accurate word to describe Stiles' expression at that moment, chin tilting down so he can look into Derek's eyes, his lips pressed together in a slim little smile. “ _Well_. There's something we could do about that.” He kissed him then, mouth already split open to close around Derek's upper lip. The kiss lasted all of a moment, but it was there and the feeling, the heat, lingered. “There won't be any world rocking tonight, though. Because I've been thinking about it a lot, too, and I want... you to... y'know.”

“Fuck you?” Derek offered with an arch of his brow. His large hand slipped between Stiles' thighs gripping onto one as he spread them apart, moving his body back on top of him. Their lips met again, open-mouthed with a quick tangle of their tongues, the briefest of touches, as if it burned. “Mm. I can do that, if you're sure that's what you want.”  


The grin on his lips was nothing short of wolfish; Stiles knew that he knew that was exactly what he wanted. But what was their relationship without teasing? 

Stiles huffed. “I was gonna say _make love to me_ , but if you wanna be a cavewolf about it.”

Derek's grin melted into a much softer smile. He leaned in and pressed the tip of his nose to his mate's, moving it from side to side before pulling back. “I can do that, too. Happily.” Again, he moved inward, this time to press his cheek to Stiles' neck instead. “Anything you want.” 

“Yeah, I _definitely_ want you to fuck me,” Stiles replied with a low laugh, his hands rubbing over Derek's waist. Fingertips dug beneath the fabric of his shirt, moving along warm skin for the hundredth time in recent weeks. He sighed. “I don't care what either of us call it. I just want _you_. Preferably on top of me, though I'm moderately bendy and could probably work with any position you wanna put me into.”

“Later.” Derek peeled off his shirt without a bit of hesitation, doing the same to Stiles'. “I want to see your face. Watch how you look when you come, see what you like most.” Pressing himself back up against his mate, he wrapped his lips around his pink lower lip, sucking on it and tugging it down until it could go no further, tongue lashing out against the soft skin just under his jaw. “...Kiss you, hear your breath... I like seeing you blush, too.”  


The callused pad of his thumb brushed along the heated shell of Stiles's ear. “And feeling it.” 

Stiles' breathing was already heavier than before. The quick shift in Derek's voice, the feel of his skin, the words coming out of his mouth – it was as if he did it on purpose, to turn him on as quickly as humanly possible. “Oh my god, that's so not fair, Derek.” He exhaled. Slowly as if he tried to keep his breath from shaking, but failed. “You're so good at that.”

His fingers went to Derek's hair, sliding into the thick of it and grasping to guide his mouth closer. “Keep talking.”

He responded with a low moan, lips vibrating against the bobbing apple of Stiles' throat. Derek took his time, laving with tongue and scraping with teeth, finding his way down to the dip in the teen's collar.  


“I want to feel you writhing under me,” he continued, skimming hot breath and hotter words down his mate's bare chest, leaving faint pink markings where ever he went. “I love every inch of your body, nn, how _responsive_ you are.”  


As if to prove his point, Stiles gasped and bucked his hips up against Derek's lower stomach. The thin fabric of his boxers made it easy to tell he was already hardening. The werewolf let out a deep growl when the scent of his mate's lust hit him.  


Derek's eyes flashed a bright red when he looked up at him, lips spread on the crease of one hip as his fingers worked on tugging his boxers down. “The way you say my name gets me harder than anything.” His voice had lost its natural softness; it was thick and rough and _primal._ Drool seeped from the side of his mouth. Even so fresh from the shower, Stiles' scent this close to his hardening cock was too much.  


“Almost anything,” he conceded as he moved his legs off to the side briefly to shuck Stiles' boxers off his body in one fell swoop. “Your scent drives me _crazy_. But not as much as having your mouth on me does.” Derek flashed him a smirk before wrapping his lips around the head of his cock, tongue swirling around the tip once or twice before he let it go, resting his chin beneath his mate's navel and holding his hand out. “Lube, please.” 

Stiles let out another shuddering breath as he blinked up at the ceiling, trying everything within his power to keep a level head through it all, even with Derek's words circling around him. It was difficult.

Wetting his lips, he pulled himself up onto his elbows to look down at Derek. “You're... god, you're so good at that. It's ridiculous.” His teeth snagged at his bottom lip as he let himself flop back down onto his pillow, arm extended to pull open his nightstand drawer. The sound of more than just a couple of bottles rolling around filled the otherwise quiet room.

Stiles picked up one and narrowed his eyes at it before carelessly tossing it onto the floor instead of back into the drawer. If he did, he'd just end up picking it up again, and he really didn't need any tingling sensations involved with anal.

He did this four times before he found the one he wanted. Nothing fancy. No scent, no extraneous side effects. Just lube. So he handed it to Derek.

Derek smiled as he flipped the top of the bottle open, squirting a small amount on his thumb and nothing more. The digit slid between Stiles' legs until the pad found his asshole. Slowly, he began to rub around it, massaging the ring of muscle with firm, pointed circles of his thick thumb, knuckles of his index and middle finger running up and down the expanse of his perineum.  


He knew getting Stiles to relax completely was out of the question, but he could at least try to convince his muscles and skin to soften before he worked his fingers inside. To occupy himself from the burning desire to be inside him, he began to kiss everywhere he could reach. Lingering, wet, open-mouthed kisses enhanced by the feeling of warm tongue on sensitive skin and the lightest pressure from his two front teeth. 

The ease with which Stiles relaxed surprised even him.

There was just something about being there with Derek, being at this point in their relationship and having only moments before hearing that he loved him. It helped him breathe when he knew he had to breathe, to unwind when he knew he had to unwind.

Stiles' teeth dug into his bottom lip as he stifled a moan and lifted his hips up, splitting his thighs even farther apart. His heels dug into the mattress and he shut his eyes.

“Feels so good,” he murmured, already breathless and his fingers twitching and gripping at his comforter.

Derek didn't have words. The sight of Stiles' body laid out before him like a veritable buffet, flushed a tantalizing pink and shifting so much the sheets were beginning to bunch under his hips, stole away such a luxury. But he didn't mind it all that much. He could convey everything he was feeling in how he looked up at his mate, hungry eyes so dark anyone would be pressed to tell if they were green or red.  


Pulling away his thumb, he slicked his middle and ring finger with a healthy amount of lube, chewing on his lower lip as he tossed the bottle on the other side of Stiles' leg. Derek wasn't hesitant when he pushed his middle finger in. He pressed on, more and more and more until finally his last knuckle was grazing his ass. His fingers were wide and long, so Derek took his time, carefully finding his rhythm and only picking up the pace when it felt like his inner walls were better coated with the silky liquid. 

The noise that left Stiles was a long, low-pitched whine. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't bite it back or keep the sound stuck in his throat with Derek's fingers inside of him. All he could do was pant and suck in sharp breaths and whine. Moan. Gasp out Derek's name, quiet and quick on his tongue. He was loud, though not wordy. That was enough.

When he asked for more, Derek gave him more. When his hips rolled forward, Derek picked up his pace. Every action was given an adequate reaction. More than adequate; enough to have Stiles begging for more than just a finger.

Even after that whisper, that rasp of his voice, that _please, Derek, get in me_ , he refused to stop. Derek wanted Stiles loose, he wanted him to feel only the lightest hints of pain that were inevitable.  


Still, once Stiles became frustrated, there was very little the werewolf could do but abide him. He was painfully hard, aching in his jeans and when his mate punctuated a plea with a long, low moan of his name, it was all he could do to keep himself from fucking the mattress instead.  


Sitting on the edge of the bed, Derek kicked off his shoes and removed the rest of his clothing, bending down to pull out his wallet and grab the condom he brought just in case this exact thing happened tonight. Once it was securely rolled on, he knelt between Stiles' thighs once more, opening the tube of lubricant one last time, first to add more between the teen's cheeks, and then to coat his cock.  


Tossing the bottle to the side, Derek moved forward, propping himself up on one hand as the other held on to his hard length, guiding himself closer and closer until the head breached the ring of muscle, giving way easily to his modest erection. He grasped onto every ounce of control he had to keep himself from just slamming into him, breathing slowly and moving with careful purpose until their hips met.  


Once fully sheathed, the werewolf laid himself down on the boy below him, wrapping his arms around his torso and burying his face into the crook of his neck, gasping out his name when his hips twitched forward even further. 

“ _Derek_.”

Stiles' arms clenched where they circled around his neck, guiding himself upwards only to shift back down. His teeth snagged on his bottom lip and he bit back a moan, louder than before and more than likely a blissed repeat of his name. “G-god, _yes_.” His words were little more than short gasps, his breath hitching with the movement of his hips. He moved beneath Derek, shifting and squirming – anything to get closer to him, to get him deeper. If that was even possible.

The feeling was unlike anything he'd ever felt, not even while experimenting. There was pressure and more pressure and then a fullness that drove him to desperation. He wanted him to move. He needed him to move. And he needed him to move faster.

His pink mouth was swollen and wet, bitten and sucked over and over before he could manage a quiet, “Nnh, ple-ease.”

Derek needed no instructions, no further words to coax him onward. His mate's tight, heated body drew him in, demanded that his hips increase their pace. Strong hands skimmed the damp length of Stiles' back, pressing against soft skin until he found the small of it and guided his hips up at an angle.  


Derek pressed his knees into the mattress, not to lift himself up but to find better leverage, driving deeper and thrusting faster with every stroke. Every noise the teen made made him want more, his scent was a heady mix of arousal and something far sweeter. He could do nothing but bury his face into his lover's neck, teeth scraping along beating pulse, hot tongue laving over salty skin.  


“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek moaned. The sound would have been lost amongst shifting sheets and the slap of flesh had he not pressed his lips right against the flushed curve of his ear. “Stiles. Say my name. Mm, I want-- I want to hear it again.” His tongue rolled just behind the earlobe before he snagged the dangling skin with his teeth just as he pushed his cock in to the base, groaning at the sensation of Stiles' muscles twitching around him. He didn't move.  


“My name,” he repeated, though this time it was a growl, low and thick and desperate, so full of arousal it made his own body flood with heat. “Mnn, _please_.” 

“Oh my _god_.” 

Stiles' hands contracted, fingertips digging into the flesh of Derek's back until even his blunt nails made an indention in his skin. “Derek. _Derek_.” His tongue darted out, running along the sculpted swell of his upper lip as his own hips bucked downward. His movements were erratic, but the pleasure he derived from them was worth it. 

And it only drove him to talk more, his mouth open wide and his legs pulled up to wrap around his hips. “Fuck, Derek, _yes_. God, that's – right there.”

The werewolf responded with a strangled, primal noise that was only just muffled by the skin of Stiles' neck.  


Shifting his knees, he moved up on them more, forcing his mate's hips to angle further. His hands sprouted claws that ripped into the pillow under Stiles' head only to shift back to normal a second later, hands still grabbing fistfuls of fabric and stuffing, his innate control and the thought of possibly going too far keeping him anchored firmly to the ground. This moment was too perfect, too human for him to let his lupine side ruin it.  


His shoulders caved in as his hips worked faster and harder than before, knees digging into the mattress and giving him more and more leverage to somehow find a way deeper into Stiles' writhing body. Derek dipped his head down just enough to nuzzle their noses together, letting out a quiet, “I love you,” against his lips. 

“ _Ah!_ ” Stiles meant to return the sentiment. Those three words were tumbling around the back of his head, swirling on his tongue, but it was hearing Derek say them while buried so deep inside of him that drove his body to react, to flood with pleasure and a heat that ran directly on its heels. “Oh god, Derek. Ohgodohgod. _Fff--_ ah, **yes**.”

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, Stiles arched his back and thrust his hips upwards, hands palming over Derek's back over and over until he was whimpering instead of moaning. “I love you, too,” he gasped, fingertips digging along his spine and guiding their mouths together. 

The kiss didn't last. It couldn't, not with Stiles' labored breathing. But it was firm – hard, even – and left his limbs tingling.

“ _Fuck.”_  


Derek's voice was ragged with exertion, mostly from the strenuous process of keeping his orgasm at bay. Six years with only touching himself on occasion had led to what felt like a quick trigger. Or maybe it just bothered him he couldn't keep this up forever.  


His strokes lost their depth as the coil in his abdomen tighten, instead keeping his cock buried deep and only rolling his hips enough to move an inch or two out before he was pushing right back in. Derek couldn't help but quicken his pace, desperately seeking his own release, but he was just as wanting for Stiles'. A callused hand left the ravaged remains of Stiles' pillow and slipped between them, his own body up far enough that he had no trouble curling strong fingers around his mate's erection.  


Derek didn't tease or build up to the proper pace. His hand matched the intense speed of his hips without warning, grip tight and wrist flicking, giving Stiles everything he possibly could, pouring everything he had into every thrust, every twist, and every noise. 

The words spewed out of Stiles' mouth would've sent him to the second circle of Hell in a heartbeat. He couldn't help it; he'd only _ever_ touched himself, and extensive masturbation could only prepare you for so much.

“Shit. _Shit, Derek, I'm gonna –_ hnng.” The cords of Stiles' neck stood out as he dug his head back into the remnants of his pillow, jaw tight and teeth clenched together. His hips bucked and rocked and thrust, a desperate ploy to get closer to Derek's hand and his dick at the same time. Anything to get him there, to push him over the edge and make him come.

When he did, however, there was no shout. No cry or moan or plea for more and harder. Stiles tensed up, and his entire body shuddered, the arms still around Derek's neck tugging him down closer until he was able to curl himself almost completely around him. And he came between their stomachs, not much, but what little there was was thick and almost searingly hot to match the humming burn of his flushed skin.

Derek kept his mouth pressed to Stiles' beating pulse as he sought out his own end several rapid strokes later. His mate's body squeezed around him just as his legs tightened around his waist and nails dug into his skin. It was a flash of heat, a fire that burned itself out almost the moment it began, but the embers lingered, too cool to burn but too warm to ignore.  


He propped himself up on shaky arms, elbows indenting the mattress on either side of Stiles' ribs. Derek didn't have a lot of words on his best days, but it was rare that he actually felt speechless, like there was nothing that he could say that would convey his thoughts and feelings. But that was the case here, as he stared down into bright brown eyes, heavy-lidded though they were and framed by thick eyelashes. His entire face was pink and mottled, lips swollen from biting and sucking of his own doing, and Derek was _certain_ he'd never seen anything or anyone so beautiful.  


Sighing contentedly, Derek allowed himself a small smile and bumped his forehead against Stiles'.

“Nnh, you're ridiculous.” Stiles' smile spoke of just how little he believed the words coming out of his own mouth. “No one should be that cute after _that_. I mean. Damn.”

Letting out a huff of a breath, the grip that held him close to Derek loosened, and he guided him down to rest more on top of him than above him. His entire body felt like it was broiling beneath his skin, but it was nothing compared to the man on top of him. He was even hotter, but it was a delicious heat that only drove Stiles to wriggle around until their bodies were pressed together at the perfect spot.

“You don't really have any room to talk...” Derek planted a quick kiss on him, enjoying the chance at letting his muscles relax and just laying on top of Stiles. “Mm. That was...” He could only smile and kiss him again, slower, but certainly not with out heat, pulling back after a moment with a tug on his mate's lower lip with gentle teeth. 

“Amazing? Incredible? Awe-worthy?“ Stiles pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and gave it a suck before releasing it to smile up at Derek. “An Earth-shatteringly perfect first time? I'm thinking yes.”

“All of that,” Derek agreed, though his brows twitched inward a few seconds later. “Your dad is working later, isn't he? Does he wake you up on weekends?” 

Stiles laughed under his breath before his brows gave a mischievous bounce.

“Not if I lock the door.”

“I was going to ask if I could stay the night,” he replied with a chuckle as he rose up onto his knees. Carefully, he removed himself, pressing his fingers against the edge of the condom while he slid out, muttering an apology when Stiles winced. He took it off and tied the end before tossing it in the wastebin near the nightstand.  


Then he was laying by his side instead of on top of him, though Derek quickly changed that, wrapping one arm and then the other around Stiles' torso and guiding the teen part of the way on top of him, letting him do the rest. “Sleep here,” he continued, face scrunched with uncertainty. “Its getting difficult for me to leave before you wake up. Or when you haven't gotten any sleep.” His hands grazed along Stiles' thighs. “I don't want to leave after that. I want to make _sure_ you get sleep tonight and be here when you wake up.” 

“Mm.” Stiles' reply was muffled in the warm skin of Derek's chest, his arms curled awkwardly and his body gone lax from the exertion. When he was able to concentrate enough to lift his head up, there was a tiny smile curving the corner of his mouth. “Gotta lock the door, but I can do that later. If I don't sleep the whole night. Which I might, all things considered.”

Flopping his head back down, cheek pressed to Derek's chest, he sighed. “If I don't, well. Surpriiiise.”

“If you don't get it, I will. I'd rather not have that whole talk when he has evidence that we had sex.” He drummed his fingers along Stiles still-damp skin. “Lying about it isn't really an option anymore. Not after that. I have a pretty good poker face, but I doubt I could say 'I have not had sex with you son' without making it obvious I have.” Derek pressed a kiss to his mate's forehead. “Hopefully at least _one_ more time before this theoretical situation takes place.” 

“Or, like, a thousand.” Stiles sighed again, though this one had an almost dreamy undertone. “I can't even imagine how fun that's gonna be. 'Oh, hey, dad. So. This is my boyfriend. Remember that time you told me I'm not gay? You were, like, half wrong.'”

Derek shifted under him, eyelids drooping as he skimmed his hands over Stiles' back. “Mm. Little more than that if that performance you just gave is to be the judge.” 

“You did all the work,” Stiles murmured, his reply followed by an open-mouthed yawn. He shifted a little, squirming on top of Derek until his face was nestled in the curve of his neck. “I just squirmed and made some noise.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around Stiles, Derek reached down, pawing for the sheet that had bunched up at the foot of the bed before flopping back to his previous position, the teen in his arms not seeming to be bothered by any of his movements. He drew the cover over Stiles' back. It was still warm in the room, but the window was open, and the fall air in Beacon Hill got chilly.  


“A lot of noise,” Derek corrected. “Hottest thing I've ever heard. Or seen.” 

“You're one to talk.” Turning his head inward, Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek's warm shoulder. “That _say my name_ stuff? Fuuck.”

His arm slid around Derek's waist and he somehow managed to arch closer against his body. It was unbelievably warm beneath the covers, but Stiles welcomed the heat. He preferred a chill, but the warmth reminded him that there was someone else there, someone sharing the same bed and the same shredded pillow and the same air. Everything.

Stiles gave Derek's chest a pat. “No more talking, or you'll have to do that again. And I think you're even more wiped than I am.”

Derek kissed him, almost as if to prove that he wasn't that tired, but the lazy, drawn out motion only seemed to solidify how fatigued his body really was. It hadn't been an easy ride for his emotions, either.  


“Wake me up if you can't sleep,” he murmured like he did every time he slept in Stiles' bed. “No excuses.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles rubbed his cheek against Derek's shoulder, his eyes falling closed. “I'll do that. I'm pretty sure I'll be out for a few hours, though. At least. That was... mm.”

They were both silent for a long while. It drew out in front of them, quiet as his bedroom and warm as the spaces between the sheets. Eventually, though, Stiles stirred, only moving far enough to press a kiss to the slope of Derek's neck. When he murmured that he loved him, his words were soft. Slow, but not calculated. Quiet and warm, just like everything else.


End file.
